Friday, July 25, 2008

We Have a Winner!

Well, it was pretty close – with almost everyone getting 16 correct. One person got 17 and one got 12. But then Allison came along and blew everyone away with 21 correct! So Allison – email me your address and give me a couple of days (I waited to get a couple things until I knew who won) to get it out to you.

Thanks to everyone who entered – you guys are great and to those of you who I didn’t know before - you all have a brand new reader. And Amy – the fact that you did it wrong the first time cracked me up, because I would totally do something like that.

So here goes:

1. I competed on a men’s sports team.

True. When I went to college, I joined the swim team as a diver. What I didn’t know was that there was no women’s team, only a women’s “club”. I found this out at my first meet – an invitational of seven teams – as I noticed I was the only girl getting suited up. Since there weren’t the maximum of male divers on the team, I was allowed to compete any time we had a meet with a school without a women’s club or team.

2. I attended three different colleges before graduating.

True. My first was a small private school, which my parents thought was very nice and peaceful and instead was a wild party. I lasted 2 years, but had to go. Next, I went tpo a branch campus of Penn State, with the intention of heading to main campus the next semester. This didn’t happen, since I had a boyfriend and wanted to stay nearby. I ended up at Pitt instead. And the boyfriend was an asshole and long gone before I even got to Pitt. This was the only time I ever made a decision based o a boyfriend. I still kick myself.

3. I speak fluent French.

Non. I took four years in high school and four semesters in college and I am still not even close to fluent. I spoke it well enough to make my way around Paris, and I got an A in a college course where you only spoke French and the tests were conversations. But still I was panicked every minute and never fluent. And now - forget it. I do remember a little and the sounds of Mme. West yelling “Fermez les bouches!” still rings in my ears.

4. I had a job showing photographs to pigeons.

True. I did an independent study in college on stimulus equivalence and I spent hours a day putting pigeons in a box and showing them a slide show. It was an awesome job.

5. I've never gotten a speeding ticket.

False. But I haven’t gotten one in a long time (knock on wood).

6. I have a photo on my desk of me and Barry Manilow.

I wish. I’m a borderline Fanilow, but all I have is a photo of me with a B-Man impersonator.

7. I once got a fishing hook through my nipple and had to have it cut out.

False (barely). I was fishing with friends and wearing a tiny black bikini trimmed in red and yellow. And somehow a feathered red and yellow lure ended up going right through my suit at nipple level. It cut me a little, but no real damage was done, except for the embarrassment of walking across campus with what looked like a stripper tassel on visitor’s day.

8. I did psychedelics as part of an experiment.

True. A good friend of mine was a philosophy major and a professor of his was very interested in the effects of psychedelics on spirituality (she used to go to Rainbow gatherings and study people), so we hung out with her for the day while she asked us questions about God and stuff.

9. I made out with Eddie Money.

False. But when I was a freshman, he did a show on campus and a girl on my hall did. And she was obviously expecting everyone to be impressed because he was famous, but instead we were grossed out because he was old and disgusting.

10. I won an ice cream eating contest.

False. I got second place in a no hands sundae eating contest (The girls ate and the guy partner could help by moving the dish around – this was some sort of sorority/fraternity charity thing), but only because the winners cheated. For some reason, there were costumes and my partner and I were dressed as 1930s gangsters.

11. I was second in my graduating class.


12. I got a leech on me while on acid and lost my shit.

False – this happened to a friend, though. I played with a highlighter and a black light while he took a panicked 2 hour shower.

13. I once got bitten by a big-ass monkey.

False. But it sounded like something that would happen to me though, didn’t it? I did get bitten by a big-ass snake once. It hurt and I grabbed the snake and threw it. It was BIG-ASS.

14. I started talking at 6 months.

True. And I haven’t shut up since. 60% of the time since then, I have been on the phone with Hedge.

15. I once shaved my head.

False. But I probably would have is the situation ever arose. I have never been afraid of doing weird thing with my hair. Once at a party a guy shaved a small piece from the base of my hair and used it to make a roach clip. I ended up with it and lost it years later at a Dead Show.

16. There are photos of me in a medical journal.

True – I was at eye and ear hospital for a routine exam and had some weird discoloration on my corneas. Eleventeen excited doctors and a jabillion questions later (have you ever been exposed to mercury? Have you ingested any heavy metals?) I was photographed and published.

17. I have a tattoo of Mickey Mouse.

False. I have no tattoos. But I do love Mickey. A few years back, I planned on a dancing bear tattoo, but never got it. Now, it would be my kids names. Only if I lose a bunch of weight will I get it.

18. I had to be escorted to my car after being racially harassed in a bar.

True. A psychopath came on to me and when I turned him down, started calling me a ni@@er-lover and screaming at me (I was there with a friend who is black) and threatening to follow me home and “fix my ass”.

19. My diving career ended when my friend threw me in a pile of broken glass.

True. We were partying in a friend’s room and throwing our beer bottles into a garbage can and missing. And when I leaned over the edge of the loft, a friend shoved me off and I landed foot down in the broken glass. It kept me out for the rest of the season. I left before the sext year started and didn’t bother joining at Pitt because while I was good for a small school, a state team would have laughed my ass right out of there.

20. I was mugged by a gang of teenagers.

True. The little fuckers (six of them) jumped a friend and me, physically assaulted us and stole our wallets. And then the fake-ass campus police came along, represented themselves as real police, chased tem off without doing anything to them, and then drove us home and treated us like shit because we had been drinking. I called up the police to complain and found out that they were kampus kops, and boy did I stir up some shit.

21. With 6 months to go, mr b and I decided to scrap the wedding plans and get married in Vegas.

False. I had a huge wedding. Mr b and I both have humongous families and had a big, crazy party of a wedding. I don’t even want to tell you how many guests we had.

22. I failed high school trigonometry.

False. How dumb do you think I am???? I got a D.

23. I once got a bowling ball stuck on my thumb for three hours.

True. I have big thumbs – what can I say? It took hours of maneuvering and lots of tools and oil to get it off. Then my thumb swelled to the size of a carp.

24. I once told a priest to suck it.

True. He was a dick.

25. I have traveled across the country to see the Grateful Dead.

False. But man, I wanted to. My parents would never had let me. . I went as far as Ohio and Virginia, because I could do that on the QT.

26. I have visible needle marks on my arms.

True. No – I was never a junkie, but I give blood as often as possible. And then years ago I worked for the blood bank and discovered platelet donation. One (large) needle in each arm for two hours. I did it once a week for many years. I still do it, but only about once a month or so. (PSA – look into it – it’s important. It takes 8 regular blood donations to get the platelets from one platelet donation, and it is needed. And despite the two needles, it doesn’t hurt. As a bonus, you get to watch a movie – without kids – and you lat in a comfortable recliner – it’s heaven)

27. I had a mullet.

True. I was in ninth grade. Though in those days, we didn’t call it a mullet, wer called it, “getting your ears cut out.”

28. My middle name is Michael.

False. It’s Marie. But I always liked Michael for a girl.

29. I was suspended from school several times.

True. I was a class clown and some teachers didn’t appreciate my humor. Also – once I drank myself into a tree on a ski trip.

30. I was once run over by a chariot.

True. During Greek Week. I ended up on crutches and the athletic trainer was pissed at me.

31. I have a platinum record.

True. I never said I recorded it. But I won a radio contest to be Gary Allen’s assistant for the day and they sent me a platinum record award with an engraved plaque just for me.

32. I am really good at canoeing.

True. I actually took a class in the dead of winter and the last thing you want to do is fall I the lake in winter, so I paid attention and learned. The first time mr b and I went together, he didn’t believe I was as good as I said until I blew him out of the water.

33. I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

False. What kind of person do you think I am? I wouldn’t kill someone just to watch them die. I had a good reason. And it was in Pittsburgh.

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Wednesday, July 23, 2008

It's Emails Like This That Get Me Through The Long, Boring Work Day

Hedge: I just read a news story about some jackass parolees that poured cologne on their passed out friends’ crotch and set him on fire. He got third degree crotch burns. This is why I don't drink and pass out with parolees.

Gina: I have a photo of my friend Dave passed out with his crotch on fire. We used carpet foam, though, so it just sat on top and burned off long enough to get a good pic…

Hedge: Hence the reason you aren't a parolee. You know how to pull off a proper crotch burn.

Gina: Well, I didn’t go to college for nothing. I passed with flying colors the following classes:

Appropriate places to puke
Proper crotch burning 101: How to take hilarious photos of your friends and not kill anyone
Tequila: finding your limits
How to make a pipe/bong out of anything: fruit division
How to make a pipe/bong out of anything: school supplies division
How to make a pipe/bong out of anything: kitchenware division
How to make a pipe/bong out of anything: medical devices division
What to tell your mother when she asks where you were
Casual Sex: a primer

Hedge: I got a 4.0 in being the only girl among my friends that could beer bong 3 beers without as much as a slight gag. All while on my knees wearing a half shirt and mini skirt.

Gina: Niiiice!

Hedge: I wish I could find the pics of that. Just to see myself in a half shirt and mini skirt. You know, I could probably still pull of the beer bong. I was already an expert on the "open throat" concept. That I learned in Fellatio 101.

Don’t forget about my contest. I’ll announce the winner some time on Friday and post the answers.

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Tuesday, July 22, 2008

How to go from “I’m so proud of him” to “That little MF-er” in 10 easy steps

1. Pick the boy up from Scout camp. See that he’s all packed already to go. I’m so proud.

2. Listen to him whine about lugging his gear back up the hill to the car. He’s a pain sometimes, but I’m still proud of him. After all, it IS a big hill.

3. Talk about camp on the way home. Find out that he didn’t quite finish a project, because he couldn’t find it. Remind him that if his tent hadn’t been a freaking disaster, that it wouldn’t have been a problem. Still proud, but maybe he’ll learn next time to keep it a little more orderly.

4. Get home and start unpacking his bag. Pull out wet, stinky clothes. WTF? Why did that boy not use the clotheslines to dry his stuff? And what about the laundry bag I gave him? Kids!

5. Wait a minute – whose shirt is this? And this? And these shorts? And these? This is frustrating.

6. Hey! Where did all his sweats and sleep pants go? He doesn’t know, he says. I’ll give him doesn’t know. What the hell. They didn’t get up and walk away. Damn it, I pay good money for his stuff and he doesn’t even care.

7. What? There are definitely clothes missing here. I’m going to kill that kid. Here I am thinking how responsible he was and he comes home with half his shit missing. Son of a bitch. Wait - make that son of a bastard.

8. Oh. My. God. This soap still has sharp edges. It was never used! Duuuude! What the hell did you use to wash yourself? Shampoo?!? OMG!! What the hell is wrong with him???

9. Jackass!!!! Stinky little jackass boy!!! This brand new deodorant isn’t even rolled up!! Does he not care if he stinks??? DO YOU NOT CARE IF YOU STINK?!?!?!?!?

10. Of course, he didn’t use a single washcloth. Of course. Well at least that’s less I have to wash because God knows I have enou. . .wait. . .where are my towels? How could he come home without any towels?? I sent four towels. Four nice, big, fluffy, bath sheet sized towels!! Four, good, very much NOT FREE TOWELS!! And how many came home? ZERO???? MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!!

Don’t forget about my contest. I’ll announce the winner some time on Friday and post the answers.

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Saturday, July 19, 2008

Trying Again - Pay it Forward

OK, so a while back, I tried to do a Pay it Forward contest. It was shortly after I moved from diaryland to here, and my already small readership was a bit off-kilter. And the response was decidedly underwhelming. As in – not a single taker. Perhaps part of the problem was that it was a handmade contest – all prizes had to be something you made yourself. And while I got a great bag from Magpie, I got no response whatsoever (and I promised to send a “Pay it Back” gift which I swear I am still planning on doing, but I suck very much and am slow in the creative, make it yourself department).

So anyway, Swistle coordinated another PIF contest and I clicked and read and then pretended like my phone was ringing and someone was at the door and lalalalalala I can’t hear you or anything about your contests. But I can’t help it – it’s fun. So late to the party, I am having another PIF contest. This time, the prizes don’t’ have to be handmade, because that adds a little to much work and responsibility to the mix and a quick look around my house will tell you how I feel about those things. This time around, I’m following Swistle’s lead and going with a random mystery prize. It may be one thing, it may be a bunch of things. It won’t be expensive. It will most likely be silly and quirky. It will reflect me and if possible, you (if I can figure you out based on what you write).

It would be awesome if the winner would do a little PIF themselves, but I am not even requiring it, because fuck it – I just want to have some fun here.

And in the name of fun, I am using a little true/false quiz to determine the winner. Leave your answers in the comments and the person with the best score will win. I the event that there is a tie, I will do the random thing. And who knows – if I get a good response (hahahahaha – I crack myself up) I may go all crazypants and have more than one winner. Because I just roll like that.

I’ll keep it open until Friday.

Notice: Hedge – as you live in my head, you are not eligible.

1. I competed on a men’s sports team.

2. I attended three different colleges before graduating.

3. I speak fluent French.

4. I had a job showing photographs to pigeons.

5. I've never gotten a speeding ticket.

6. I have a photo on my desk of me and Barry Manilow.

7. I once got a fishing hook through my nipple and had to have it cut out.

8. I did psychedelics as part of an experiment.

9. I made out with Eddie Money.

10. I won an ice cream eating contest.

11. I was second in my graduating class.

12. I got a leech on me while on acid and lost my shit.

13. I once got bitten by a big-ass monkey.

14. I started talking at 6 months.

15. I once shaved my head.

16. There are photos of me in a medical journal.

17. I have a tattoo of Mickey Mouse.

18. I had to be escorted to my car after being racially harassed in a bar.

19. My diving career ended when my friend threw me in a pile of broken glass.

20. I was mugged by a gang of teenagers.

21. With 6 months to go, mr b and I decided to scrap the wedding plans and get married in Vegas.

22. I failed high school trigonometry.

23. I once got a bowling ball stuck on my thumb for three hours.

24. I once told a priest to suck it.

25. I have traveled across the country to see the Grateful Dead.

26. I have visible needle marks on my arms.

27. I had a mullet.

28. My middle name is Michael.

29. I was suspended from school several times.

30. I was once run over by a chariot.

31. I have a platinum record.

32. I am really good at canoeing.

33. I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

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Thursday, July 17, 2008

Unblocking, Part 1

OK, I am taking your suggestions and trying to unblock myself. Allison asked about high school, so I’ll start there.

There are people who loved high school and people who hated it. I fall somewhere in between. I did mostly enjoy those years, but not in the way that it was my peak in life (and you know we all know those folks). And there were things about it that I hated, though I am not the type of person who doesn’t go to reunions because I was miserable and still hate those people (although there are a few).

It seems like everything about me in school was pretty average and that’s OK with me. I wasn’t popular, but I wasn’t an outcast. When I was in grade school, and junior high, I was friends with the girls who became the popular crowd, but there were a few that joined up with that group that drove kind of a wedge. They were the mean girls. I can remember being pushed out of the group by them in their not-so-subtle way – they would sit at the lunch table and make plans that didn’t include me. I understand now that my friends were probably afraid to buck the routine and never made a point of speaking up and including me, but it still hurt. I stuck around for a long time because of the ones that were truly friends, but eventually, I started hanging out with a group of girls a year older. And one day, the Mean Girls gave me an ultimatum – us or them. Considering that “us” was a bunch of bitches who didn’t include me anyway and “them” was a group of girls who always made me feel welcome, it’s not hard to guess who I chose. Of course, “them” graduated the next year and I was alone again.

My friends remained my friend, but our social circles grew a little apart. Not that I really had a social circle. I was friends with a lot of different people, but I never really had a group of friend. I had several very close friends, but they weren’t all friends with each other. So I would hang out with a good friend and her (or his) friends.

I also had a lot of situational friends. During swim season, I hung out with the team. During football season, it was the majorettes. I was a gymnast for part of those years, so I had my gym friends. There was French club and our trip to Europe. I had the school newspaper friends. I was a geek, too – a member of the chemistry, biology and physics club. It was nice to have such a diverse group of friends but sometimes I wished I had a group of friends - that I actually fit in somewhere. Of course, who didn’t feel that way at some point? I still have some of the same great friends, like Tee and Hedge, who have been my best friends since early childhood and Rapunzel who I knew all though school, but only as an acquaintance and who has since become a dear friend.

In a small town and small school, there was no “dating”. There were boyfriends and girlfriends (And the occasional one-night stand) (Not that Hedge or I have any idea about that) (HAHAHAHAHAHA). I can remember watching The Brady Bunch and seeing how they went on dates and asked each other out, and I was amazed and intrigued by hat. Because in my school, you went to a dance or a party or the game and you kissed him behind the bleachers and then he was your boyfriend. It didn’t have to last a long time - 3 days, a week, a month – but during that time, you were a couple.

Even back then I liked older men, though I couldn’t really get away with dating them often. My first kiss was when I was in 8th grade (I was a bit of a late bloomer, but once I bloomed? Hoo-boy) and he was in 10th – my first older man. I was so nervous, since I was the last of my friends. I remember walking with him to his wrestling practice at the gym after school, knowing that I was going to get a kiss, knowing that I had to get back I time for my bus, and being scared shitless. I can clearly remember the feeling of walking back to the buses when it was over, feeling like my feet weren’t even touching the ground. But after the novelty wore off, it became apparent that he slobbered. I didn’t like that.

My next boyfriend was my age and was the one I think of as my first love, albeit puppy love. He moved away and I was devastated. After that, I mostly stuck to the older “men”. My first sexual experience was with a guy several years older (with “relax – don’t do it” on the radio at the exact moment). We were in the musical together and I fell hard. It was a really happy time until it fizzled out (on his end). It took me a long, long time to get over that one. I had one long term boyfriend who was a friend that I loved a lot. But there was something always not right and I think it was that I felt for him more as a friend than a boyfriend. But at that age, it was hard to distinguish between the two and we were on and off all through school – with it not being quite right when we were together and yet not quite right when we were apart.

The boyfriend from my senior year was my age. He was hot and fun and OMG the sex. Weirdly, people often told us we looked alike. Once, a new girl came to the school and asked him out. She told her he was flattered, but brought up me as the reason why he couldn’t. She said, “Why would your sister care?” It was a good, healthy (and HOT) relationship. Alas, I went off to college and he stayed home and our lives diverged. If we had met at a later time in life, it could have been something.

Oh – and also – at one point, I dated Hedge’s husband (her husband now – she wasn’t married in jr high – we’re not that rednecked, you freaks). Anyway, you might think it would be weird for one BFF to have previously dated the other’s husband, but it’s not because a) it was a long, long time ago, b) it was before I discovered sex, so there’s no ick factor, and c) neither one of us like him anymore.

I never really had to deal with girl bullies. I mean – we had the mean girls, but I just thought they were bitches and didn’t give a fuck. Bt there were a group of boys who were horrible to me. I don’t know what they had against me, but they made my life hell for a few years. They threw things at me. They called me terrible names. They egged my house. I never did anything to warrant it. I never dated any of them, I never had an argument with any of them, I never looked sideways at any of them. So I never understood. Plus the most evil one was a shrimpy little fuckweasel that couldn’t pick on boys, lest he get his ass kicked, so he went to who he thought would be easier to bully (I was outspoken, but I hadn’t yet learned the fine arts of not giving a shit and ass-kicking). There were days and days and days that I went home and cried my eyes out over the way they treated me.

If it happened to my daughter, I would tell her that they were jealous because she didn’t date any of them, but I don’t’ want to sound vain. OK – I’m going to go ahead and sound vain – they hated that I wasn’t interested in them. Seriously – that’s the only thing I can think of. Because in between bouts of evil, every single one of them came on to me at one time or another (and one tried to take it a little further more than once – I’ll tell you that story another day). Assholes. And I am not embarrassed to say that I revel in the fact that they are all losers now. I mean, not just asshole losers, but big, life failure losers. Loser alcoholics that spend all their time in bars and have no families and no life beyond the bar stool. The kind with red noses and slurred words and sad, depressing existences. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Yeah – it may be cold, but fuck that noise. To this day, I won’t repeat the “pet name” they called me, because it still hurts to remember. And the evil little fuckweasel? He used to spit on me!! And the one with the story for later? To this day I wonder how many women he’s at least attempted to rape. I once heard that he was an actual in-the-gutter wino and I didn’t feel even a tiny bit if sympathy. In fact, I cheered for the gutter.

Me in general:
I was the class clown. Always goofing off. But I was generally a good kid. I worked hard and got good grades (duh – Physics Club). A few teachers (the tightwads with control issues) didn’t like me much, but the ones who got past the clown and saw the real me inside were awesome. Some of them had an incredible impact on my life and to this day I am grateful.

I was never a cheerleader/football team type. Instead, I was a majorette and had a great time hanging out with the band. We had parties and went on trips and brought bourbon in thermoses and took joints to Sea World. We used to alter our uniforms to be sexier. And we almost set ourselves ablaze twirling fire batons.

I was a diver on the swim team. I loved it and I was pretty good. Once in a while they needed me as a fill-in swimmer for the 100 backstroke (which I kind of liked and didn’t come in last on every time) and the freestyle relay (during which I had a heart attack and died every single time).

I never thought I was particularly pretty, but I knew I had a great body. I can say that now because I haven’t seen that body for many, many years. I had an hourglass figure with a tiny waist and big boobs. I wore teeny tiny French string bikinis and got my revenge on those bullies. But one time someone – a grown man - called my house and tried to proposition me. He said he was the man that owned the local pool and made up some story about a beauty contest at the pool. When he called he asked for my mom who was home but had me say she wasn’t (she thought it was friend she was avoiding) and once he discovered that, he went into his spiel about how today was the deadline to register and that I had to audition and that he could come pick me up. I got really scared and dropped the phone and screamed for my mom. She went to the pool and spoke with the owners and raised all kind of hell. That was a big “loss of innocence” moment for me. I knew that looking like I did had an effect on boys, but I didn’t realize that t could bring me the wrong kind of attention, too.

I was mostly a nice person. I didn’t bully people, I wasn’t a Mean Girl, and I had friends in every color, shape and size. But I wasn’t perfect. Once, when I was getting ready for the big freshman dance, my boyfriend (Hedge’s husband) showed up with a big wrist corsage. He came from a different school that year and at that school, they had wrist corsages. But at out school we didn’t. We had regular ones. And this was at the height of needing to fit in. And to add to my horror, it was HUGE. I mean, it took up my entire forearm. I cried and said I wasn’t wearing it and stomped upstairs. My mom almost killed me and she fixed it up and I apologized and everything was fine. But to this day, I still feel bad about that, because that was not the way I normally behaved. I don’t know what came over me, but I remember it clearly. The good thing is that it stuck with me and made me a better person in the long run. I never acted like that again. Once, I told Hedge that story and said I feel bad every time I see her husband because of it. But then she reminded me that we don’t like him and that he is “The Asshole Ruiner of her Youth”, so I let it go.

And for a while, I was “the other woman”. I had a friends-with-benefits relationship with a guy who had a girlfriend. I knew it was wrong and I didn’t care. I never had a boyfriend when it went on, and I wouldn’t have. But somehow I didn’t seem to care about his side. I guess I figured she was his responsibility and not mine. I think part of it was that he was my boyfriend and few years before and we broke up, due to interference on the girlfriend’s (and her Mean Girl friend’s part). Neither of us knew it at the time, so we broke up (both thinking that it was the other’s idea – teenagers are not so great at communication) and we were both sad and moved on. And a couple years later we sat in class (physics, of course) where we always flirted, and he made a joking reference to me breaking it off. And then I said, oh no - that was you. And then we finally talked and figured out what really happened. And I think at that moment, we both made a decision. Because it wasn’t long after that that we started having a not so secret affair. It was on and off for quite a while and I never felt guilty about it. I still don’t, really. And believe me – I am hard on cheaters. But you know what? We were kids. And we had been screwed over by the “victim.” And we ended up having a really great friendship. I saw him at the last reunion and it was like it hadn’t been 20 years (you know – except for the sex part). So, whatever.

I was always involved in chorus and singing. I sang solos in every concert from 7trh grade to 12th. I was a big fish in a little pond. When I went off to college, I discovered that. Thank God American idol wasn’t around then, because I would have tried out thinking I was awesome and had a rude awakening on national TV.

And that’s pretty much high school. There were things that I hated and things that I loved. Would I do it again? NO WAY. Now college? I’d do that again.

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Monday, July 14, 2008

Please Unblock Me!

I have had terrible, horrible, no good, very bad blogger’s block lately. I used to have so much to say and lately, nothing. Sometimes I think of things and then as I write them, I decide they suck and I give up. Or I feel too tired to bother. Or there are things I want to say, but can’t, since I am afraid of being too public. I’m dying here. Someone, anyone, please tell me what to write about. Give me a topic, make a request, ask me a question – I don’t care how silly, or deep, or personal it is. I need some inspiration!!

So – on to the boring, I can’t think of anything to write about stuff. We visited the boy at camp on Wednesday night. Remember his neat, organized tent on Sunday? Yeah:

But despite the craptacular tent, he was having a great time. He is definitely in his element at camp. When we first started him with the camping, we weren’t sure. Because this is a boy who loves TV and video games and laying around like a lazy ass. But it turns out he loves camping, too. Mr b and I used to camp a lot before we had kids and we keep saying that we want to start again, but something always seems to get in the way. We’re going to have to finally do it. Of course, I would never camp in those scout tents – oh hell no. I like the sealed-up zip tents with floors and netting. The kind that you zip open as little as possible, jump out and zip up again, in order to keep the spiders from getting in. Those open things with no floors? Forget it. Spiders. Of course, my dad bought a small camper, so that may be the way to go for us.

Anyway – the boy. He kayaked and loved it (yay, because I love to and we can go together), and hiked and worked on merit badges and fished a lot:

The camp is HUGE and quite nice.

We picked him up on Saturday and he was dirty and tired and happy and lugging a ton of dirty, muddy clothes which I now have to wash. But it was a beautiful day.

The rest of the weekend involved me working like a dog to get things organized in order to get some of the renovations finished. I moved furniture and moved the bed to the back bedroom (they are connected and we are using them both as our bedroom – one for sleeping and one for clothes and dressing. And moving the very heavy dressers and bed that have been in the same spots for many year? Was gross. But I found a lot of stuff that I thought I had lost, so there’s that.

I lose everything. That's right - I'm a loser. In fact, right now, I can’t find my camera battery charger. I used it before vacation and I thought I took it with me, but it’s now missing. I searched the hotel before we left and don’t think anything was left in the room, so it must be here somewhere. I go through this with every charger I have, extension cords, my extra contacts, medicine, sunglasses, the phone, books, clothes, shoes, and things I just bought the day before. But this charger thing is really pissing me off, because I need to take photos at all times.

So I’m going to look for the charger and in the meantime, help a girl out, will ya? Help me find something to write about.

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Tuesday, July 8, 2008

The good and the bad

I was out of the office from Wednesday until yesterday and it was great. Except for the yesterday part. Man, the first day back after a long break is killer. I relaxed for exactly. . . oh. . . 13 minutes the entire time, but it was still a nice break. Of course, there’s good and bad in everything:


The good – I took the boy for his nephrology checkup and sonogram (for those who don’t know, he has a multicystic kidney, which was diagnosed in utero). Everything looks good – The “good” kidney is larger and working well (strangely, it is a duplex kidney), and the cystic one is a bit smaller (it had gotten bigger last time, so I was a little nervous).

The bad – OMG, the CHP parking situation!!

The good – Having time enough in between to hit the gift shop fore some caffeine.

The bad – Seeing what I think may have been an old friend in the gift shop and not being sure. And not speaking to her (though in my defense, she looked right at me and didn’t speak either, so it may not have been her) (and in her defense – if it was her, I have gained 6000 pounds since I last saw her and she may have been thinking, “that looks like Gina, only big and fat”) (and if that’s the case, well, then she wasn’t looking too hot herself so fuck it)

The good: The boy realizing that I have been right for all these years about the blood test not being painful, and only seeming that way because he was bitching and stressing out and whining about it.

The bad: Listening to the boy bitch and stress and whine and about the blood test for hours days weeks beforehand.

The good: Finally telling hi to suck it up and reminding him of the thousands of shots his diabetic cousin and friend get. It shut him up.

The bad: Waiting forever for the nephrologist (why does spell check reject “nephrologist”, but think that “nephrologists” and “nephrologists’” is OK? Are they only allowed to exist in groups?)

The good: He’s the best so he’s worth it. Also – he backed me up on the no excessive caffeine rule. HAHAHA Take, that Mountain Dew!

The good: Meeting a bunch of in-laws for a nice dinner and drinks

The bad: Blowing my diet


The good: The office closing at 1:00, and only having to use 1 hr of PTO to get off in time to meet the in-laws for some fun.
The bad: Being scheduled to work from home, which meant I had twice as long of a drive to meet them

The good: Getting the whole gang - minus one - into the Science Center for free on my membership

The bad: Missing the Titanic exhibit because they are charging eleventy-five hundred dollars extra to get in

The good: Having a great day with the kids and some of the in-laws, including my favorite sister-in-law. Plus – not having the whole damned tribe there meant we could actually move at a reasonable pace

The bad: The place was so fucking crowded

The good: My new boyfriend, Art – the elderly scientist

The good: Having a few more meet us for a nice dinner

The bad: Blowing my diet. . .again

And I almost forgot –
The bad: The kids forcing us to go through the submarine of claustrophobia and smells

The good: Hanging with my nephew-in-law-in-law and actually learning shit

The bad: Getting separated from the group since the kids only wanted to go through it and not actually seeing anything. Plus they can jump through those little hatches more easily

The good: Not actually getting my fat ass stuck in the hatches, despite my Winnie the Pooh predictions

The bad: Getting stuck behind a big fat guy who got stuck in a hatch

The good: Big fat guy stuck in a hatch


The good: Not having any picnics, parties or obligations (the past two days of in-law extravaganza made up for missing the party today).

The bad: Still having a million things to do, like cleaning, shopping for groceries, stuff for the scouting trip and grandma’s birthday gift, and preparing food for the next day.

The good: Hello - shopping!

The bad: Hello – shopping with a four-year old!


The good: Sleeping in until. . .oh wait

The bad: Getting up early and going to the grocery store since stupid fucking wal-mart didn’t have what I needed to make my food yesterday. The bastards.

The good: Spending the day with family and celebrating grandma’s 89th birthday

The bad: The asshole republicans (note: not all the republicans – just the asshole ones) and racists in attendance.

The good: They left early and I got to make fun of them all day long. Plus I replaced everyone’s cell phone wallpaper with a photo of myself

The bad: I had to drive, so no drinking

The good: My cousin offering to take the boy home, so the girl and I could spend the night. Having drinks and staying up late laughing with my aunts and cousin.

The bad: Having to get up early and drive home to get the boy off to scout camp


The good: The boy having his first Boy Scout camp on his own

The bad: Getting ready for camp

The good: Remembering everything, being on time and taking a nice drive through the mountains to drop him off.

The bad: Having to bite my lip and chew off my own hands to avoid killing that asshole kid that I hate.

The good: Getting the boy settled into his tent and him being lucky enough to get a brand new cot and a “porch.” AND having his tent far away from the asshole kid that I hate.

The bad: Spiders!

The good: Meeting so many nice kids and knowing that my boy has plenty of good role models to counteract the asshole kid that I hate. Seeing him thrive in this element of camaraderie and the outdoors and respect and footballs and one big fat lab. Knowing that even though he drives me crazy sometimes, he’s turning out alright.

Some pics:

Bike riding at the school:

She loves tearing down these covered hallways. I guess it must a little like riding inside - off limits, and therefore fun:

Making a wish:

She wished that I would Stop. Taking. Photos!!!!

The Earthquake Diner at the Science Center:

Art - my new scientist boyfriend:


"A Scout is Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean and Reverent" OK, I'll give him Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Kind and Brave. And a big old sometimes on the Courteous, Obedient and Cheerful. The Clean can be iffy. And Thrifty? HAHAHAHAHA! Now, Reverent - I don't know about. Does the worshipping of all things Playstation count?

Grandma ("Baba") and her great-grandchildren. There's another on the way (banish that thought - it's not me):

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Tuesday, July 1, 2008


Is anyone interested in the things that are pissing me off today? No? OK, then, well I’m telling you anyway.

My asshole neighbor. I have several asshole neighbors. But today it is the one that never speaks to us unless he has something rude and/or ignorant to say. We’ll call him Asshole. We have had ongoing “issues” with him regarding property lines. It started approximately 15 minutes after we moved in and he approached my husband and said, “so, mr b? When are me and you and Asshole Jr going to cut down these walnut trees?” To which mr b responded, “? ! ? ! ? ! ? ! ?” Apparently, Asshole didn’t like the occasional leaf or walnut landing on his property. Of course all his shit landing ion our yard? No problem. Next up was the ravine out back. Our property is pie-shaped and the “point” is a small ravine. From the time we moved in, we have seen Asshole and company dragging Christmas trees, cuttings, yard debris, etc back there and dumping it. We never said a word, because we don’t care. It’s all biodegradable and it’s unusable land. But once, when he saw mr b doing te same, he raised holy hell. Mr b told him it was out property and he tried to claim that our pie-shaped property had a wedge cut into it from the side, despite the existing property “pins”, and very conveniently including the exact area where he was dumping shit, but we were not “allowed”. Mr b pretty much blew him off because we know he’s wrong and we don’t’ give a shit. Over the years, he has yelled at my dad for 2.6 grass cuttings going over into his grass, told us we can’t be friends with his dog, badmouthed us to the neighbors and been a general dickhead. Then, early this spring, he pulled the property thing again. So we shelled out the money to have the land surveyed. And lo and behold. Not only were we right about our property, it was actually about a foot wider into his side. Heh. He was all out in the surveyor’s business (turns out it was someone he knows) and we heard him yell “bullshit” at least once. Our reaction? A silent “suck it”. Because the new measurement puts his stupid shed too close to our property line than is allowed and if we wanted to be dickheads like he is, we could make him move it. But we’re not dickheads. Finally today, he approaches mr b and starts out with friendly small talk and then suddenly says, “you know, mr b, I don’t mind that you’re putting that there (mr b was spreading some grass cuttings in the ravine area). I mean, I don’t mind it.” Um, I’m thinking you do, or you wouldn’t be having that conversation. And then he goes to talk about how he understands and doesn’t mind that we had the land surveyed. But that you know, his pin used to be right there and now it’s been moved. Yeah. BY THE SURVEYOR!! I’m not sure exactly what his deal was or what he was trying to get at, but again, he can SUCK IT. When mr b just turned around and walked away, he tired to be all friendly again, offering mr b some blueberries and cherries that he is growing. Uh – no thanks, freakshow.

The embezzler. AKA The asshole that nastily called out mr b in front of a group of people and accused him of deliberately not paying him for something. Which is bullshit, since we tried to pay, but were put of and then he never showed up at the places he was supposed to show up at. And then we forgot. And it was very little money and an innocent mistake. And if he had simply reminded mr b, it would be a done deal right now. But he acted like mr b was a criminal, which is not only untrue, is amazingly ironic given that this very guy was in charge of money on behalf of some very innocent people and it strangely kept disappearing. Hmmm.

Mr. b. For not getting that I love his family, but I sometimes just can’t make our schedule work. I don’t want to drive over an hour all the way to the other side of the city to attend a 4th of July party, just to drive home at the exact time that all the drunks are also on their way. I have a serious phobia about being on the roads during the drunken holidays. It scares me shitless and I feel that one party is not as important as staying alive. It’s not just July 4th – this is an ongoing issue. It doesn’t help that they are often very last minute with stuff,. And while I am spontaneous as often as possible, I have a schedule that often is not conducive to spontaneity. And it’s not like he always wants to go and I don’t. I see them as often as I can –and I repeat – I LOVE THEM. There are plenty of times he doesn’t want to or can’t go somewhere. But sometimes he gets a bug in his ass and likes to have someone to blame. That someone would be me.

Oh – also? He’s car shopping. And it’s killing me. Because he is a “foot in the door guy”, meaning that he starts of affordable – look at this – this is only xxx dollars – we can afford that. And then it starts inching up, because “if we’re going to go xxx, we may as well go xxxx and if we’re doing xxxx, we may as well do xxxxx and so on. Oy.

The dog. Because he just farted. In front of the fan. That is blowing on me.

Mr. b again. Because he just informed me that the boy needs medical forms filled out from the doctor. For camp on SUNDAY. And I am expected to be the one to lok like a groveling asshole and make a special trip all the way out of the way to the doctor’s office to try and get them to drop all the unimportant stuff like sick children, so they can fill out our forms. Awesome.


The boy. Or maybe it’s me. But wither way, the boy has very convenient stomachaches. Like every night that he doesn’t feel like going to sleep. I have no doubt that he is really feeling it, but he is a serious hypochondriac. And I get frustrated with him. And with myself, because sometimes I should really be more sympathetic and comforting, but dear god, it’s like clockwork sometimes. And sometimes he might really be sick, but he’s “boy who cried wolf”-ing me to death.

Prudence (of “Dear Prudence”) For this letter:

Dear Prudence,My daughter is in her late 30s and lives a day's drive away from me. She recently brought her two young children for a visit. Since her husband had to work, she brought along a single girlfriend. When they arrived, my daughter announced that she and her friend planned to go out partying on the nights they were here and to leave the children with me. (OK – it was rude of her to just assume that her mother would take the kids. She should have worked it out in advance) I was disappointed not to see more of her but gladly took care of my grandchildren. My daughter and her friend stayed out very late barhopping and came home drunk both nights. Then they left the next day without saying goodbye. (and this is definitely wrong) My daughter called to say she'd had so much fun that she and her friend were planning to come back with the children during the summer to do it again. I told my daughter that while I'm always happy to see her and the children, she should plan to stay in a hotel if she wants to party all night. (totally within her rights) My daughter hung up on me, then wrote me an e-mail saying she would not visit again and accusing me of being judgmental. (she’s either overreacting or there’s more to it that we are being told here) If I'd behaved like my daughter, my mother would have set me straight quick; she called women who act the way my daughter did "sluts." OK, grandma, this is where you lost me. Times have changed and sometimes women – especially ones with busy lives and busy husbands and kids who live far from their mothers and have no built in babysitters need a break. And sometimes that break means having drinks and staying out late and being silly) In trying not to be judgmental like my mother (oh no, not at all), have I created a monster? (we’re working the woe is me really hard now) What, if anything, should I do now to repair our relationship? I love my daughter and want to see my grandchildren. (perhaps not writing to a major media outlet and implying that your daughter is a slut might help.)
—Sad and Perplexed

Dear Sad, (I’m ready Prudie, rip her a new one!!)I'm trying to figure out whether this trampy persona (what??) is new and out of character or whether this is just the latest excrescence of her usual conduct. (What??) Any married woman who dumps her children with their grandmother so she can barhop all night is someone with behavior(?????), marriage(WTF?!?!?!?!?), and alcohol problems. (WHAT THE HOLY FUCKING FUCK?!?!?!?) If you always let your daughter get away with murder when you were raising her just so you wouldn't be like your mother, then you made a terrible mistake. But she's all grown up (at least chronologically), and although she apparently lacks judgment and self-control, she's also a mother now. It sounds as if those kids are going to need comfort and stability, so you don't want your daughter using them as pawns in your relationship with her. (LALALALALALALA, I’m not listening) Call her and say you are sorry your last conversation ended the way it did. (for being such a fucking bitch and most likely telling her she is a slut because she probably had two fucking nights out with a friend in the past five years, you miserable harpy) Don't back down about her behavior—what she did is simply not all right. (suck it, Prudence!) Explain you are not calling to pass judgment (spare me), but because you are concerned about her health and safety (oh PLEASE) and you wish she would talk to you about what's going on in her life. (so you can tell her how messed up and slutty it is)
—Prudie (who can go suck a big fat one)

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